


Combined Nutritional Value

by boonies



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin loves food. It'd be a shame if someone... exploited this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combined Nutritional Value

*

 

Changmin is fond of food.

 

In the way earth is fond of gravity.

 

Sometimes Changmin fantasizes about food while he's having food.

 

Sometimes people take photos of him and say oh, he must really like this girl, guy, thing, look how lovingly he's staring at her, him, it, but he's usually just coveting the sandwich ads in the background.

 

Basically, Changmin wants to eat all the time.

 

Changmin can't eat all the time.

 

Not anymore. He's done growing and his metabolism is done being his bitch and everything is just the worst.

 

There are approximately 350 calories in the full serving of takoyaki currently cooling off on his lap, and Changmin could maybe skip the sauce but then, what's the point in living anymore.

 

There are also, like, 200 calories in this fucking iced latte he's secretly sucking down while his manager is busy fielding calls in the front seat, and there's no practice today and this is a terrible idea because he can't carbo-load unless there's practice and—

 

"Want mine?" Yunho asks, plopping down next to him in the back seat.

 

Changmin glances at Yunho's hands and the thing cupped between them.

 

"Why are you drinking a frappuccino?" he grumbles, eyes fixed on the thick dollop of whipped cream and the caramel drizzle soaking into it.

 

Yunho shrugs. "It's hot out."

 

It's 2°C.

 

"Just a sip," Changmin says, making a face.

 

Five minutes later, when he's sucked down the whole thing, whip included, Yunho smiles brightly at him and pats his knee.

 

"Okay, so, you in the mood to talk about your lyrics for track three?"

 

Changmin's in the mood to jog to Australia.

 

He digs into the takoyaki on his lap, gives Yunho an almost giddy grin, and says, "Sure."

 

*

 

Fucking schedule and fucking costume changes and fucking stylists.

 

Fucking tight pants and fucking pizza being a billion calories per serving.

 

Changmin has only had iced green tea today and this stupid pair of pants still won't zip. Without clamping down on a vein or an artery, whichever one is vital to survival and nearest to his crotch.

 

"WHO THE FUCK LEFT THEIR FOOD HERE," he shouts at the nearly empty dressing room. A greasy pizza box is spread open on the table, one last fat slice lurking in the center. It's fucking indecent. "IT SAYS NO FOOD OR DRINKS RIGHT ON THE DOOR."

 

Everyone ignores him.

 

Minho pokes his head through one door or another, opens his mouth, then quickly hightails it to safety.

 

Changmin stares at the pizza.

 

The piece that's left is probably somewhere around 500 calories.

 

The only way to quickly burn 500 calories is to set the pizza on fire.

 

"Ready?" Yunho asks cheerfully, materializing out of nowhere.

 

Changmin turns vicious eyes to him.

 

Yunho's grin fades.

 

"You know," he says calmly, pulling on the fingerless glove that's part of the stupid fucking costume, "we'll be rehearsing for hours and it's whole wheat, half the cheese, half the sauce."

 

Changmin devours the slice before Yunho can finish the sentence.

 

*

 

"Shit, we're at the wrong gate," his manager groans and checks the boarding pass.

 

Changmin feels like hijacking a plane and flying it to some bagel shop in France or New York or wherever the hell bagels are from.

 

Instead, he pastes a strained smile, gritting his teeth, and says, "That's fine. Feel free to go sort it out. I'll just wait here. Not murdering anyone."

 

Sheepishly, the manager skedaddles and Changmin is left alone.

 

He gives an appraising glare to his surroundings, stomach growling.

 

Shit, why are there seven million fast food places at airports. Why are Japanese interviewers always so tiny. Why is Changmin going to Japan and not allowed food for two days. Why is he a fucking giant.

 

Why is the universe such a bitch.

 

Frustrated, he reaches for his phone, hoping for a distraction.

 

He pats himself down, first front, then back.

 

In his left back pocket, there's a biscuit.

 

Where the hell did this thing come from.

 

Suspicious, he inspects the wrapper.

 

20 calories.

 

Grinning, he pops it into his mouth.

 

He doesn't hijack a single plane.

 

*

 

"That was humiliating."

 

Yunho chuckles, locking the door behind them. "I'm sure they won't air... all of it."

 

Changmin shuts his eyes, heading straight for the kitchen.

 

This is why he hates variety programs. PDs live for finding someone's weakness and exploiting it mercilessly and so now Changmin's going to be on TV, again, playing the part of a clumsy giant lumberjack, dancing to stupid cumbersome choreography and they'll probably splice the screen to show how much better Yunho is and—

 

"Try some of this," Yunho chirps, walking up to him with purpose. There's a greasy bundle of something in his hand and Changmin wonders when the hell Yunho had time to buy a burger.

 

"We've been running all day," he shrugs, unwrapping the bun and proffering it to Changmin.

 

Changmin almost eats Yunho's hand.

 

*

 

Changmin is tired.

 

He's so tired he's forgotten how to do words and things.

 

On auto-pilot, he meanders into the kitchen, scooping out rice and dumping it into a bowl. Mindlessly, he shakes out half a jar of kimchi on top and stabs at the mess with a pair of chopsticks.

 

"At least the ER is nearby," Yunho comments, flipping the light switch. He comes to stand beside Changmin, eyeing the mixed rice with interest.

 

"Want?" Changmin says and hopes the answer is no.

 

"I'm... good," Yunho says, amused, then bends to open the fridge and hands Changmin a coke.

 

It's not even diet.

 

Changmin gulps it down like a maniac.

 

"I... kinda just bought us a new sofa online," Yunho says carefully. "Sorry."

 

Changmin's mouth is too full to argue.

 

*

 

 

"I'm not doing it."

 

"It'll be fun."

 

Changmin narrows his eyes. "I'm not gonna sit in some dirty playpen and mess around with some gross baby. On camera."

 

Yunho contemplates for a moment, then makes a deliberate left turn and drives up to a street vendor.

 

He throws the car into park and pops out and the scent of fishcakes hits Changmin like a bus full of bricks. Or fish. Or whatever, there's food being dangled in front of his face, literally, and it smells so salty and sweet and he's already had lunch but this is so salty and sweet. It's so... so... it's...

 

"So, are we a go?" Yunho asks, buckling himself back in and starting for the recording studio.

 

"What?" Changmin says, twirling the stick and licking the tip, trying not to unhinge his jaw. "Yeah, sure."

 

*

 

"I need to borrow four of your games," Minho shouts, tearing through Changmin's room.

 

Changmin throws a bottle of water at his back. "How'd you get in."

 

"Just let me borrow them," Minho whines, ransacking a shelf. "Hyung's being a dick and confiscating all our shit."

 

"No. Get out."

 

Minho straightens, annoyed. He ponders for a moment, then asks, "Where's Yunho?"

 

Changmin narrows his eyes.

 

After a contemplative beat, Minho peels off down the hall, pounding on Yunho's door.

 

The door opens to admit the bastard, and then, four minutes later, Yunho's casually strolling by Changmin's room, cell phone in one hand, menu in the other.

 

"Fried chicken for dinner?" he asks.

 

Changmin stares at his face.

 

If he licked it, how many calories would that add.

 

"Get eight pieces," Changmin says angrily.

 

Minho sneaks by, arms loaded with Changmin's games.

 

*

 

"My phone won't connect to the internet," Yunho grumbles from the makeup chair.

 

Changmin looks up, one chair over. "Okay."

 

Yunho glowers. "Let me use yours for a minute."

 

Changmin offers him a belligerent look instead.

 

"One minute, I promise," Yunho says and Changmin kind of has difficulty saying no because Yunho has some sort of evil witch spell-caster powers probably.

 

Grudgingly, Changmin hands over his phone and busies himself with a magazine... from 2003, wow.

 

"Your search history is really messed up," Yunho says nonchalantly.

 

Changmin jumps out of his chair, pawing blindly for his phone.

 

Yunho swivels around protectively, reading, "How many calories does sex burn. How many calories does sex burn in twenty minutes. How many calories does sex burn in ten mi—"

  
Face melting off, Changmin topples the chair over. Or tries to, but it's bolted to the ground, possibly for (and because of) occasions such as these.

 

Eerily calm, Yunho swivels back around.

 

Their faces are way too close when Yunho asks, tone dangerous, eyes sharp, "Who are you having sex with?"

 

Changmin stares, long and hard.

 

"Have you been putting cookies in my pockets?" he asks, gripping the armrests of Yunho's chair.

 

Taken aback, Yunho blinks, pulling away.

 

There's nowhere to go.

 

Changmin leans in. " _Have_ you?"

 

Trapped, Yunho averts his eyes. "You like cookies."

 

Changmin likes cookies, yeah.

 

He likes Yunho more.

 

"I ate all of them," he tells Yunho, pushing one knee into the chair to anchor himself. "Take responsibility." His right hand drops to Yunho's knee. "I need to burn off the calories."

 

All color drains from Yunho's face.

 

Then slowly, his lips twitch.

 

"I don't know," he says brightly, "you seem to think sex should only last ten minutes, so—"

 

Changmin dips his head and presses his lips to Yunho's.

 

"Okay," Yunho says breathlessly, bringing his hands to Changmin's collar, "taking responsibility."

 

*

 

"Minho said I could borrow some games?" Kyuhyun greets.

 

Yawning, Changmin lets him in. He scratches his belly with a sleepy grunt and points Kyu at a pile of stuff. "Here. Take everything. Bye."

 

Spooked, Kyu doesn't move. "Are you dying?"

 

Yunho stumbles into the living room, looking totally dazed.

 

"Shit," Kyu says, panicked. "Is there a gas leak. Who do I call. Shit."

 

Changmin's too full and too sated and too sore to deal with this. "Go home."

 

"Sorry," Yunho says politely. His... everything is red and scratched and sticky. "We were sleeping."

 

"With each other," Changmin adds pointedly, distracted by the bare stretch of skin below Yunho's t-shirt.

 

"That's..." Kyu deadpans, "...worse than a gas leak."

 

Changmin kick-shuts the door behind him.

 

"And now I'm awake," he announces, grouchy as fuck. "And hungry."

 

Yunho yawns, stretching. "There's some soup in the fridge."

 

Changmin steps closer.

 

"Oh," Yunho murmurs. "Not for soup."

 

Changmin practically eats his face off.

 

"We can have ramyun for a week," Yunho negotiates, trying to pry him off, "if you let me sleep for one more hour."

 

It's tempting but so is Yunho's face and body and all of him so Changmin presses himself closer, peppering Yunho's jaw with hungry little kisses. "I don't do things in moderation."

 

Suddenly serious, Yunho slides a hand down Changmin's back, closing his eyes. "Neither do I."

 

Changmin knows this.

 

It's why he'd choose Yunho over anything.

 

It's why he'll overdose on him.

 

"Just don't think you can use sex like you did food," Changmin warns, nuzzling at Yunho's neck. "'Cause I'm never going back on Running Man so don't even try."

 

Yunho grins, arching.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it."


End file.
